


Trashmouth for Sale, Gently Used

by stitchy



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Body Worship, Coming Out, First Time, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-Canon Fix-It, UST, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy
Summary: “Richie is an award winning comedian and voice actor, originally from Derry, Maine. He’s a six-foot-two Pisces, and in case dinner goes very badly- CPR certified,” the auctioneer recites joylessly, while Richie is in stitches at her side. “Richie enjoys long walks on the beach, 1-800 number jingles, and debating the civil rights of robots. You can select any venue in New York for your dinner, but Richie says he especially enjoys Thai food and frozen custard and describes himself as a bottomless pit-”Richie taps the auctioneer's shoulder and leans into the mic. “That’s a typo. That should say just ‘bottom’.”-While Richie gets roped into a bachelor auction, Eddie struggles with his own worth.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 145
Kudos: 1208





	Trashmouth for Sale, Gently Used

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, just a heads up- Eddie's having kind of a rough time coping with the aesthetics of his Derry injuries in this fic. I imagine his therapist has like, ten other things on her checklist ahead of it.

Sunday mornings are when Eddie feels most like his old self again. Before physical therapy and the surgeries, before getting punched through like a Get Your Tenth Yogurt Free card, sometimes even a few years further back than that. All during the week he pushes himself to survive, then on Saturday he recovers, and on Sunday he _lives_. Maybe it’s a chicken and the egg scenario, whether it's because it's the day that his friends are most likely to call that makes it good, or if it’s because he’s generally in high spirits that that’s the day they know to try and get a conversation out of him. Either way. It’s Bev who strikes while the iron’s hot, this particular Sunday.

She catches him while he’s coming in from a jog, puffing and collecting the pile of neckties that grows at the little table just inside the door. He takes them off when he gets in from work during the week and then abandons them until Saturday or Sunday. Eddie can always tell how many days he made it into the office rather than do a WFH day by the pile, like some kind of arcane calendar.

“What’re you up to now?” Bev asks.

“I went twenty, twenty-two minutes?” he guesses. It’s pitiful progress. He’d like to work up to a half an hour by winter before it gets too icy. As it is, he probably only covered a mile and change by taking breaks, which is a significant let down from the six minute mile he maintained all through college. His doctor says it's unproductive to measure his recovering state against a twenty year old, though, and seeing as how that didn’t make him particularly happy _as_ a twenty year old, it’s hard not to agree.

“That’s pretty good,” Bev decrees brightly. “That’ll get you from my office to the Sbarro and back.”

Eddie's sure she can cover more of Midtown, in heels, in the time it takes to slam back a small cup of coffee, but he can appreciate the sentiment. He settles down onto the couch and sighs. “God save their souls if they’re out of the stuffed crust, though,” he mutters darkly. “I think when you lose part of an organ, your stomach must spread out and set up an annex. I am never not hungry.”

“You still like goat cheese?”

Eddie is almost offended. “Of course, what kind of question is that!?”

“A leading one,” Bev admits. “I’ve got a fundraiser thing coming up on Friday the 20th. It’ll be flooded with those goat cheese tarts we had at my last party.”

That is enticing, but- “Hmm. On a Friday...” He’d have to work from home to save the energy for it, which was okay, but it would make for a much longer hike into Manhattan.

Bev makes an apologetic sound. “Yeah, I know that’s not ideal for you. Ben was gonna be my arm candy, but for them to break ground on time he’s gotta bail,” she explains. “It’s actually gonna be a charity auction for the women’s group I’m working with. You know. Day with a stylist. _Hamilton_ tickets, that sort of thing.”

“Still haven’t made it out to that,” Eddie muses, twirling his handful of ties like a flail. “Because of the whole, _you know_. Spending months recovering from getting impaled thing.”

“Well now might be your chance, Eddie,” Bev laughs. “Ben’ll front you the 5k he was going to donate anyway. You can bid on whatever you want. Please?”

Free food, free theater tickets, and a glamorous evening to hang out with one of his closest friends... “All right, what’s the catch? You don’t _need_ a date, Bev. Is there gonna be some fuckin’ godawful Off-Off-Broadway mime troupe or something, and you need someone to roast it with who’s checkbook you won’t offend?”

“No, no theater! I hired a ska band,” she smirks through the phone.

Eddie snorts. “That’d be worse.”  
  
“I just-" she sighs. "I know you’re not getting out a lot, Eddie. Even if Ben was coming, I’d have invited you,” she says, too earnestly. “I worry about you.”

 _Oh boy._ You don’t call Marty McFly a chicken and you don’t tell Eddie Kaspbrak you worry about him.

“Oh fuck off! I get out.” Eddie kneejerks, defensively. He sits more upright on the couch. “I walk even on a bad day when I’m like, made of fucking daggers! My pulmonologist put the fear of god into me about getting a blood clot!”

“You know I’m talking about face to face human interaction, here.”

“I have to- to _talk_ to people, at work, or the doctor’s, or the store-”

He's fine!

“Mmhmm. Right. Have you been to any parties besides the ones I invite you to?”

Eddie says nothing. Bev is way too familiar with the workings of his social life to pull off a lie, there. The only get-togethers he makes it to these days are either the highly planned and catered Loser dinners held at her and Ben’s place, or the impromptu half-gathering of the club, whenever Richie comes to town to visit him. Eddie always invites Bev and Ben along and they always come.

“-Or gone on a date?” she asks, a little more gently. “It’s been a year.”

“Well, what counts as a date?” Eddie asks facetiously. "I sometimes make eye contact with my barista."

“So, that’s a no then.”

“I will have had a date with a lovely woman by the 20th. Check back in with me then.”

“ _Eddie_.”

“ _Beverly_ ,” he intones just as exasperatedly. “Yes, I’ll come to your auction thing.”

“Yep. That’s great! But I’m off that now,” Bev says quickly. “Now I’m grilling you about _this_.”

“I’ll hang up on you.”

“No you won’t.”

Eddie sinks into the couch, sulking though he knows she can’t see it and he knows she’s right. They’ve counted on each other to be someone who will never hang up, and will hear even their shittiest thoughts out, since Derry and both of their divorces. Especially being in the same city, while he was wounded and needed help untangling his newly saved life from his old one, and she needed someone even more battered than herself to worry about. The more the dust settles on the past year, she was bound to notice that while she was moving on, Eddie’s been stuck.

He closes his eyes and tries to pluck up some courage. “I dunno, Bev. It’s intimidating. Starting over after forty. You just- _walked right into Ben_.”

“You don’t ‘walk into’ anyone?” Bev asks with overdone innocence. “There must be single, age appropriate powerbitches all over your industry.”

“Well I don’t fucking date at _work_ , Beverly.” Eddie rubs his face. “We can’t all work in the arts- _some of us_ have HR departments that give a shit, you know.”

Bev giggles at that and he feels a little safer.

“And I don’t- I don’t think-” _Ah, fucking hell, here we go_. Eddie takes a sharp breath. “I think I’d like. To date men.”

There’s a breath on the other end. “That’s great, Eddie, I’m really glad. I’m really glad you’re telling me. That you’re at that point.”

Eddie’s eyes fly open again. “You- _you knew already_?!”

“Uhm. I’m with Ben,” Bev says, and he can hear her teeth clenched together in a wince. “We did the whole dating history thing, and I told him I’ve dated a handful of women, and he told me that one time you asked him to practice kiss you. That, uh. It seemed to make a bigger impression on you than him.”

“Oh god.” Eddie wilts back into the couch and feels around for a tie with which to strangle himself. 

“I’m sure you’re not the only one, if it makes you feel any better. Probably Richie kissed Stan, back in the day.”

“ _Stan_ , why Stan?”

Bev laughs, but Eddie doesn’t see what’s so funny. “Why Ben?” she asks back.

“I didn’t think he’d make it weird!”

“That’s probably why!”

Eddie moans. “Okay, well. Always great to know you’ve been emotionally brutalizing yourself for no reason. Jesus Christ.”

“...I’m sorry, Eddie.”

Being more in tune with him than he was with himself doesn't exactly make her a bad friend. If anything, he should be sorry he didn't tell her sooner, he thinks.

“That’s okay,” he sighs.

“I can see why that’d make it intimidating to jump back into the pool, though,” Bev admits.

“Especially when you’re not looking so great with your shirt off, these days.” Eddie rubs his chest and the knot of ugly scar he knows is there. He’s down two ribs and part of a lung. His circulations shot, so that he gets cold in any weather under seventy degrees, and laying on his side makes the slipped discs in his back hurt, no matter how many pillows he wedges. From the light scouting of the dating scene he’s done, he already knows he’s too busted to keep up with the rest of the younger newly-out crowd, and too wildly inexperienced to approach anyone his age or older who’s more settled.

Bev tuts at Eddie. “Honey, that won’t matter if you find the right guy.”

Eddie blows a raspberry. “You should see the apps, Bev. It’s wall to wall abs that’ve never seen so much as a bad sunburn. I’m new enough to doing it online, but then you add. _That_. And I never- well, even if I _weren’t_ a carnival freak show I wouldn’t know how it all works.”

“I’m sure you can talk to Richie about it, you know.”

Suddenly, Eddie feels very sweaty from his jog. “Ahaha, that is exactly what I will _not_ be doing, thank you. Mr. Your Mom’s Vagina and I are going to have very different philosophies in that arena. Have you seen _People_ magazine lately? He’s eligible as fuck right now, his turbofamous advice would not apply.” Eddie clears his throat. He can feel himself talking too quickly. Too tellingly. Ah, right. This is part of why he purposefully underestimated Bev.

“That’s fair, but I still think you should talk to him,” says Bev. She sounds right again, which is rude of her.

“Eventually. _So_. What’s the dress code for this thing,” he asks, to get her off the scent. If he can get her spinning her wheels about fashion, he can aim the handlebars of this conversation the hell out of here. “Cocktail? Black tie?”

As soon as the details are settled and Eddie makes Beverly promise she is not getting him to her event in order to set him up with some rando, Eddie excuses himself to do the rest of his errands and stew.

Whatever he claims when talking to Bev, Eddie does want to talk to Richie about it. Even when he didn’t really know what was going on- as soon as Richie had come out, maybe even _before_ he felt compelled toward him. As soon as they all had each other back in their lives, he wanted nothing more than to fall right back in where they left off- bouncing jokes off each other and talking every day. How could he not want to chase the high he got off of flustering and being flustered by Richie? Getting to know Richie all over again was like flipping on an old rerun. All the colors are retro and warm, and maybe the jokes are corny, but the laugh track is a kind of comfort. Studio-audience approval to like the things he likes and find his sense of humor, _himself_ again. He laughs with Richie and he knows he’s not alone. Of course, immediately after Derry he was too weak to do more than throw in a scoff, or a coughed _yeah_ , or _you dick_ \- so Richie did all the heavy lifting. He wanted then, so badly, to ask if Richie felt the same way- but he talked so much, by the time Eddie could hold his own in the conversation again... Richie would have said something if he did, right?

At this point, Eddie’s afraid to make a fool of himself. It’s stupid bordering on homophobic to assume that just because a guy is gay he’s interested. Richie’s been such a fucking hit since he came out and updated his act, there are probably a hundred guys a day that don’t have gruesome holes in their healthy (maybe also famous?) bodies _begging_ to ride his train. Guys without Eddie Kaspbrak amounts of baggage, who have both hands free to hitch on with, even. That’s part of the problem, too- he and Richie have such a long history and were so young when they met, Richie probably sees him as a brother and would be completely skeeved by the concept! That’s how Eddie would feel if it were Bill or Stan approaching him, at any rate. Sure, there’d be a gentle let down, and all- but Eddie’s already low enough. It’s easier to just stick to safe topics on the phone, say he’s tired (which is usually true) when they don’t, and implore Bev and Ben to join them when they meet up in person.

-

Eddie’s jogging a little longer, walking a little less when the 20th comes around a few weeks later. He feels like he could push himself farther, but he’d rather not over do it and wind up having to cancel on Bev, since she always showed up when he needed her. As planned, he works from home so he can leave some gas in the tank in case there _is_ a non-ska band, then gets a cab out to Chelsea Piers.

It’s one of those any-purpose sorts of venues by the water, where high-flying people like Bev can turn a couple of cement walls and a window into the most stylish event you’ve ever been to. Lights carve out sections of the room, where hundreds of well dressed folks cluster to drink and chat and eat. There seem to be two competing sound systems at either end of the space, but only one comes from a raised platform, where it can be assumed the auction will take place. Eddie waves off the program the doorman tries to give him and makes a beeline to the first familiar face he sees, standing at a nearby table.

“Richie Tozier!”

Richie turns around from whatever conversation he was having with a woman in green, sparkly dress. His eyebrows pinch together, just as confused as Eddie. “That’s what it says on my underwear.”

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Eddie demands.

“Giving fuckin’ accordion lessons, what do you think?” Richie quickly drops his glass back on the high top then pulls Eddie into a hug. “Hey, you look great. Like one of those bastards that crashed the economy- though I see you skipped out on the _formal_ diamond studded fanny pack.”

Free of the hug, Eddie crosses his arms in an attempt not to look like a stunned, knuckle-dragging idiot. “You look like you’re finally _not_ wearing something that you rescued from its second time around at the Goodwill,” he shoots back. “What- what the fuck, man? You didn’t tell me you were gonna be in town.”

“Uh? Surprise!” Richie waves his hands. “Bev told me to keep it under my hat. I’m in town! Wanna hang?”

“It’s common fucking courtesy to say something before hand, asshole!” Eddie needs a warning before the Richie roller-coaster. He can’t be expected to drop everything and get other people safely on board with no notice.

Richie shrugs. “You never tell me when you’re in LA.”

“I haven't _been_ to LA.”

Now Richie crosses his arms. “Dude, I know. You’ve never come to visit me, for aaall the times I've visited your ass-”

“You’re not _supposed_ to fly with the low oxygen in the cabin after having a fucking thoracotomy-”

“-and yet somehow _you’re_ the one who’s mad,” says Richie. “Hypocritical much?”

Finally, Eddie hears what Richie’s saying through his own excuses. What’s worse is he sees the shadow of hurt on Richie’s face. The down-turned mouth that should never do anything but smile. To Eddie’s continuing humiliation, except for that, he does look _really_ good. Like, better than he ever has in person, because usually when he visits Eddie he doesn’t do it in a fucking suit with- _onetwothree-_ three goddamned shirt buttons undone. Standing so close, Eddie can smell the cologne that must cling to that neck and collar bone and now he has a whole new offense he needs to be forgiven for. Fuck.

Eddie drags his eyes away. “I’m really sorry, Richie,” he tells his own folded arms. Yeah, he had a good excuse to keep away for a few months after surgery, but he’s recovered enough. He could have made an effort by now if he wasn’t so caught up in his own bullshit. “I should have- just- I’m sorry. You know how I get about health shit, dude.”

Richie uncrosses himself and reaches out to pat his elbow. “I know it’s been rough,” he says, softening. “I wanna see you and hang out, man. But I don’t want you to like, fucking burst your good lung or stop your heart or whatever you’re scared is gonna-”

Eddie laughs at him. “Well, _that_ won’t actually happen, it’s more a matter of reducing stress on-”

“Dude, I know,” Richie rolls his eyes. “I can do research, too.”

Intentions aside, Eddie’s heart really does stop for a moment. “You did research?” he asks, touched.

“I wanted to know you were okay,” Richie says gently.

Eddie coughs to cover a smile. “Yeah, though- uhm. We can see what Bev’s up to, I guess? Ben’s out of town right now, I think, but we can all get together or go somewhere.”

Suddenly there’s something wet on the side of his face as Bev appears, radiant in red. She kisses Richie on the cheek too, then hangs between them both, arms all looped together.

“Hi boys.”

“Hey Miss Thang!”

“Hi Bev. Nice shindig you got here.”

“Thank you,” she beams. “I think it turned out pretty good, if I may say so myself.”

Richie grins. “We’ll say it for you, if you don’t.”

It really is good to see two of his favorite people at once. Eddie’s disguises his dopey smile with a scowl and tugs Bev’s arm to free her from Richie. “Tell Richie to piss off. You’re supposed to be _my_ date.”

“You’ve never heard of a threesome?” Bev grins.

Richie wraps a long arm around Bev, long enough to land his hand on Eddie’s ass. It’s everything he can do not to jump through the roof. “Sure he has, just usually it’s us and Eddie’s mom. He’s much too loyal to stray.”

Eddie gives both of them a withering look. “I can have exactly one drink on my medication and I’d like it _now_ , I think.”

“Let me introduce you at the bar, Eddie.” Bev pulls him away and casts a warning look over to Richie. “Don’t forget to give the blurbs to the sound guy!”

“Oh, right!” Richie pats his breast pocket and takes off in the opposite direction.

Eddie snaps his head back from watching him go and lands on Bev’s too-knowing expression. Jig's up. “Shit. Is it worth asking you if you’re free to hang out this weekend, or did you specifically swamp it so that you can’t?”

Bev’s eyes flash goadingly. _I’ll never te-ell!_ “Swamped or not, I am retiring from being your security blanket.”

“ _Bev_ ,” Eddie groans, feeling betrayed.

“Time to sleep in your big boy bed!” she says, dragging him along through the crowd, from one patch of funky light to the next.

“Uh, _alone_ , unless you know something I don’t.”

“I don’t,” Bev says honestly. “But I've noticed your little avoidance tactic, and if you keep refusing to be alone with him, eventually Richie will start to notice, too.”

“He already has,” Eddie admits.

“Yeah.” Bev squeezes his arm. “He’s kind of a smart guy, for a dumbass.”

“It’s so fucking annoying!”

“And endearing?” Bev teases. They reach the bar, bathed in a purple glow and she nods to the bartender. “Hey Kevin, can I get a water with lemon? And anything he wants is on me,” she thumbs at Eddie.

“You sure about that?” Eddie grins maliciously. “I have a vengeful streak almost as bad as yours.”

“Do your worst!” Bev challenges him.

The bartender, a beady eyed man with a blonde swoop of hair looks to Eddie.

“Just a Sam’s is fine. Thanks.”

Eddie keeps catching himself looking for Richie in the crowd while they wait and Bev rattles off a bunch of the items on auction.

“Hmm. That’s a good one,” he bullshits, but he wasn’t really listening. Richie is stuffing his face from an hors d’oeuvre tray and upon seeing Eddie looking at him, gives a thumbs up and pats his belly.

Bev takes another sip of her water. “Now. I gotta go say about a thousand hellos,” she says, pushing off of the bar.

Eddie steadies his sloshing glass and moves to follow her, as he’s _supposed_ to be her unfamiliar escort, who can ask people who they are when hostess Bev can’t recall. “All right, let’s roll.”

“Actually, I got this.” Bev spins around and wrinkles her nose at him. “I think you got your hands full with Trashmouth over there. Don’t let him choke on an eggroll before he can do my spiel.”

As she walks away, Eddie thinks he probably deserved that. He hasn’t retained a thing she just told him about the event.

To preserve some semblance of cool, he does not take a direct path back to Richie, but instead swings past the secondary sound system. Instead of a platform, this side of the room has two rows of pay-to-play attractions like blackjack, a roulette wheel, and even a jelly bean raffle. He buys a few tickets for that out of his own pocket to make up for the drink and the damage he intends to do to some tarts, just as soon as he finds them. While he’s watching some people get their picture taken at a photo booth, Richie finds him instead.

“You get a load of that bartender?” he asks, looming behind Eddie. “If Alf Was Human, right?”

Eddie looks back over his shoulder. “Pfft. You’re absolutely right.”

Richie surveys the party. “I don’t know what it is about rich New Yorker charity types, but there is Grade A people watching going on here. Bev is _so_ lucky I’m not doing crowd-work.”

“You’re not performing, are you?” Eddie stiffens. Richie’s act has changed a lot and certainly for the better- but he’s not prepared to keep a poker face through _I’m not shallow, I just want a man with goals- soccer or football, I’m not picky._

“Not _exactly_ ,” Richie says cryptically, still scanning the crowd. “Ugh. I think I just spotted the tallest man in the room,” he sneers.

People think Eddie is touchy about his height- but there’s nothing like a tall man’s mistrust of even taller men. He sips his drink and watches with delight as Richie tracks the dude across the room, eyes narrowed. If Richie had hackles, they’d be raised.

“You gonna fight him, Highlander?” Eddie grins.

At Eddie’s voice, Richie softens. He slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and steers them away from the competition. “No, I’ll just let you get worked up about people skipping the automated soap dispenser in the bathroom and then turn you loose on him.”

“Oh no.” Eddie glances at the fluorescent signs for the bathrooms and exit as they pass. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. When will they learn that hands-free fixtures are still germ flinging bullshit? You shouldn’t have to do the fucking YMCA to use a faucet people don't have _time_ for that!”

Richie giggles at him. “I can’t wait to watch your social jiu jitsu as you refuse to shake hands all night.”

Eddie catches eyes with someone headed their way that looks like they recognize Richie. He plunges his hands into his pockets. “We’ve got incoming, Tozier. Youth Pastor Kid Rock at twelve o’clock.”

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll say you were raised by Tibetan sherpas so you can just bow.”

“Good cover.”

Eddie ends up serving much the same function as Richie’s counterpart as he would have for Bev- though maybe Richie’s notoriety is expected to be more one-sided. Still, he never gets tired of Richie introducing him to fans with a proprietary hand sliding across his back. _And this handsome fella here. You should meet my original comedy partner. My best, oldest, friend. Eddie._ At least some of these people must walk away with the impression they’re a couple, given Richie’s profile. Does he realize that? Does he intend it? Probably not, but all the same- over the past year, Richie seems to have reached some kind of zen about how little of people’s perception of him he can control, and it’s downright inspiring. Not that Eddie can tell him as much. He keeps it to himself, burning inside with the rest of his admiration.

They spend the auction of a helicopter sightseeing experience (complete with champagne toast) theorizing about Bev, who just solicited Richie for a heartburn pill.

“You don’t think...?” Eddie looks at Richie.

“Not after five o’clock quittin’ time,” Richie quips, before getting curious. “What don’t I think, Eds?”

Eddie mimes a baby bump. “Heartburn. Only seen her drinking water all night...” Her dress fits kinda different, in a way? He doesn’t quite know how to put it.

“She does look _stacked_ ,” Richie says, bug eyed. “Major boobage. I was disappointed they didn’t have a bouncy castle here, but-”

Eddie elbows Richie in the ribs. “Aren’t you supposed to be gay?!”

“They’re tits! They have a universal aesthetic appeal!” says Richie. “I’d have to be blind not to notice them.”

“Oh, Rich." Eddie pats his shoulder consolingly. "You _are_ blind."

“That’s why it’s notable that they’re fuckin’ enormous!” Richie cranes his neck to look for Bev again, in the crowd.

“Okay, well. If you wanna take it easy there, she’s our fucking friend _and someone’s mom, maybe._ Holy shit! _”_

While he’s speculating, Eddie wonders to himself if maybe this is why Bev was trying to get whatever was going on with him squared away- she had her own flesh and blood coming to take care of.

Richie goes a little glassy. “Can you imagine? A baby with pudgy lil’ Ben cheeks and Bev hair,” he coos and fans himself with his auction number. Eddie bats it down before he can accidentally bid. “Oh my god, do you think if they have twins they’d give me one?!”

They’ve talked about a lot of serious adult things- sickness and death, work and money and politics- probably everything except for their love lives and _this_. This is the first Eddie has ever heard Richie utter a word about parenthood. Not even back when they were kids did Richie indulge in the hypothetical angst of statements like _When I have kids, I won’t ground them for missing the bus!_ It makes Eddie a little dizzy to think about. Perhaps back then, Richie might never have imagined he _could_ have kids. If that’s something Richie wants, would he-

“Let’s uh- let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dude. We probably shouldn’t walk around assuming-”

“Nah, you’re right,” Richie says gravelly. “I should offer to pay. All those fucking doctor’s visits? If there’s one thing knowing you has made me internalize, Eds, its that health care in this country’s a fucking travesty.”

Eddie can only stare at him, this lunatic that he absolutely would have a family with, given the chance.

“What?”

He lets go of a breath he’s been holding roughly since _Can you imagine?_ Yeah. Yeah, he can. Cheese and crackers, he’s in fucking deep. Why the flaming fuckening fuck is he doing this to himself?!

“I’m just... surprised that you listen,” Eddie says.

There’s an encouraging round of applause as someone puts in an especially high bid. The excitement of the crowd jostles them a little closer together.

“Last chance on the helicopter ride,” Richie observes with a tempting lift of his eyebrow.

Eddie shudders and buries his number sign deeper into his folded arms. “You know I hate heights, man. I’m holding out for the _Hamilton_ tickets.”

Richie sniffs and sticks his chin up. “I’ll try not to take that personally, small fry.”

No one else bids, so that auction goes to Poor Man’s Usher and his wife, and then the next item on the block is a private tour of the Met. That reminds Richie of the whole reason he’s here. 

“Gotta dip. I’m doing Bev’s stylist thing after this one.” He shoves his number in his pocket and attempts to button his jacket one handed.

“Here, gimme that.” Eddie takes Richie’s mostly empty glass off him to save him the trouble of finding somewhere to dump it along the way. “I’ll put in a low bid, even though your raggedy ass is the floor model,” he winks. “To support _Bev_.”

“Dick!” Richie flips him a parting bird.

While the Met tour goes up, Bev finds Eddie again. She hands him a nest of cocktail napkins loaded with goat cheese tarts.

“As promised. Still mad at me?”

“I’m not really mad at _you_.” Eddie pops a tart in his mouth and is pacified for a moment. “I’m the asshole.”

“Yeah.” Bev lays her head on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezes him. “But I don’t mean to push, Eds.”

She just wants him to be taken care of. He knows. She knows. It’s the kindest push he’s been given in a long time, in a long life of being pushed around by women who didn’t necessarily mean well.

“I’ll get together with him- all on my own- this weekend,” he promises Bev. “Like, _socially_.”

“Mmhm!” Bev steals a tart off his napkin.

After the Met auction, Bev shepherds them up to the edge of the stage and Richie turns up again to present the next item. There have been other members of Bev’s group presenting very tangible auction prizes up until this point, but if it’s your party and you have the access, why not pull out the big guns? Instantly, Richie is more comfortable with the mic than anyone else has been, including the professional auctioneer.

“Hey folks, I’m Richie Tozier, long time friend of tonight’s chairwoman, fashion designer Beverly Marsh!”

She turns around to give a wave in the beam of pink light that spills off the stage, and people clap, but no one harder than Eddie.

“Aw, she’s embarrassed,” Richie teases as she retreats back to Eddie. “I always worry she’ll have a sniper waiting to take me out when I say that we know each other. Fashion-wise I’m a charity case, so I suppose I’m in the right place.”

The crowd laughs and Eddie turns to Bev with a hiss. “Are _you_ responsible for this- this-?" he waves his hand at Richie's ensemble. "You know my blood pressure’s a fucking nightmare, right?”

“Teehee!”

Richie paces away from the middle of the stage as the RP screen begins to display slides of Bev’s high end work, inter-cut with candids of her grimacing as she tosses some of Richie’s more outrageous shirts into a heap and he stands by, shamed.

“For this next auction item, _you too_ can immerse yourself in her glamorous judgement. For one day, Beverly Marsh will be _your_ personal stylist. She’ll rehaul your clothes, your shoes, and your grooming-” he pauses and twirls a finger at his own head. “-if it’s not trademarked.”

Bev whispers to Eddie. “He told me I _could_ send him to a barber, lying weasel.”

“And you didn't?!”

She shrugs. “Well. That’s my Richie. I like his dumb face.”

“If she can make a silk purse outta this pig, she can probably make any one of you ballers break Instagram. Good luck!” With that, Richie hands the mic off to the auctioneer, but sticks around to fist pump and hoot.

Eddie lets two bids go in before he raises his number.

Bev smirks at him. “What are you doing, Eds? You’re not enough of a challenge for me."

“Like asking Da Vinci to paint your garage.” Eddie challenges the next bid, too. “But this is _Sales_ , Bev. We gotta give these jerks a run for their money.”

“It is for charity,” she grins.

They have such a good time running up the other bidders, Eddie doesn’t realize that although Richie left the stage during the break between auctions, he hasn’t reappeared in the audience. Not until Millennial Betty White wins for 7k, and he goes in for a triumphant high five or two with Team Loser.

“Hey, where’d- did he see that?” Eddie looks around for Richie, hand still hanging in the air. “He set it up and we dunked it.”

Bev bites her lip and shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Hmm. Yeah.”

One of the organizers, an older woman in a pantsuit who had previously read off a blurb for cruise tickets takes the stage once more, causing the mic to squeal.

“Ooh. Apologies,” she says, and Eddie looks up. Just beside her stands Richie.

He motions to Bev. “Is Richie doing another one? He said something about concert passes.”

Pantsuit clears her throat. “Our next item is of course the celebrity bachelor auction!”

“Found him!” Bev says innocently.

Eddie buries his face in his hands. “Oh, fuck. Oh holy _fucking fuck_.”

“-The winner of this auction will have dinner with Richie Tozier.”

“Just dinner, ladies!” Richie finger guns at the audience. “Gents...” He raises his hands in a shrug. “Maybe breakfast, too, you never know.”

“Richie is an award winning comedian and voice actor, originally from Derry, Maine. He’s a six-foot-two Pisces, and in case dinner goes very badly- CPR certified,” Pantsuit recites joylessly, while Richie is in stitches at her side. “Richie enjoys long walks on the beach, 1-800 number jingles, and debating the civil rights of robots. You can select any venue in New York for your dinner, but Richie says he especially enjoys Thai food and frozen custard and describes himself as a bottomless pit-”

Richie taps Pansuit’s shoulder and leans into the mic. “That’s a typo. That should say just ‘bottom’.”

Eddie loses it. God, he hopes other people are cracking up besides him, because the only sound in his ears is his own hysterical laughter. Are there panicked tears in his eyes? Maybe!

“No fucking _way_ , Bev!”

There’s a pat on his shoulder, but Eddie barely feels it, seeing as he’s in the midst of an out of body experience.

The auctioneer takes over, and in lieu of another slideshow, Richie puts himself on display. He whips off his suit jacket and hooks it on a finger over one shoulder, posing as bids begin to roll in. The first is from a rather statuesque, tweed suited man Bev had at some point introduced him to, but whom Eddie could now only remember as Bearded Tom Brady In Publishing.

Bev tosses up her number and wolf whistles. “I made out with him at the _Godspell_ cast party in high school,” she shouts, “-and can I just say, _hallelujah_!”

Eddie wishes for the cement floor to swallow him whole. “You left Derry _before_ high school, Bev!”

“It’s called Sales, Eddie.”

Richie blows them a kiss and then licks his fingertips to slick his eyebrows. It’s lucky for Eddie the lights make everyone unnaturally pink.

“Jesus.”

Unaware or uncaring of Eddie’s body and soul reaction, Richie just keeps hitting poses and turning around to give the full 360.

These people in the crowd don’t know, Eddie thinks. They might be willing to give money to charity but they don’t know what Richie is worth. He’s the kid who made the world’s wonkiest paper airplanes and mouthed off to attract the beat-down other people deserved. You can't put a price on that! Even now, he’s goofy and he cares too much. He keeps tabs on the exploits of Eddie's favorite obscure X-Men for him and researches his ailments, and every time, Eddie wishes he could find a way to make Richie feel the way that makes him feel. It comes so naturally to Richie to be lovable, more than it ever has to Eddie, and yet these people don’t _love_ him, not like Eddie does.

The ferocious part of his brain that doesn’t know how to be like Richie, that strikes out when he wishes he could be soft, that's always told him to snipe and to do ridiculous things- _steal Richie’s glasses so he has to paw at you to find them, jump into the hammock!_ \- it makes him thrust his number in the air.

“Five thousand,” he says.

Up on the stage Richie wobbles to a stop. His jacket slides off his shoulder as his arm goes slack, and he squints through the lights to stare at Eddie.

And now what? Eddie just has to stand here like a dickhead? His hands are always kind of clammy since Derry, but now they shake, too, as he lowers his number again. 

“We have five thousand, do I hear fifty-five hundred?”

A voice behind Eddie ups it all the way to six at the same time that a voice to the left calls out seven.

Richie shakes it off and keeps mugging.

And Eddie could do the quick math and he could throw in some of his own money, and in the end it would go to a worthy cause- but even if Eddie won, he still wouldn’t be with Richie because that was what Richie wanted.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Eddie backs away from the stage and stumbles into someone. “Fuck, sorry.” He motions to Bev. “I- I need some air.”

“Eddie, wait,” she insists. Her grip slips down his arm as he pushes through the crowd to get away.

He doesn’t stop until he gets to the door to the patio, and even then, only long enough to semi-politely excuse himself past the knot of people lingering at the coat check.

“Let me the fuck out. _Please_.”

Prince’s Twin Sister curls her lip at him, but holds the door open anyway.

He doesn’t know where he’s going or if he’s ever going back inside, but at least the night air cools the shame on his face for a moment. The sky and water are big and dark enough to put him and his insignificant, stupid problems in their place for a little while, too. There’s an empty spot by the railing where he can think. Maybe text Bev and ask her what her fucking contingency plan was when getting Richie to sell himself to the highest bidder, in the event it wasn’t _him_.

“You stupid asshole,” he mutters to himself. They wouldn’t even be in this situation if he’d just kept his chill. Now Bev and probably Ben were pitying him, and eventually Richie would too, because he’s too fucking kindhearted to be disgusted with Eddie like he deserves.

He stands there for awhile, mentally drafting damage control texts, but it turns out to be too cold for him to want to take his hands and phone out of his pockets. He should have brought another layer, tonight. Summer’s over. He should have been getting out more often at night, like Bev said. Then he’d be in the habit. He should have been socializing and connecting and not pinning all his fucking emotional fulfillment on the same six people.

“I knew I’d find you out here, calling OSHA about the handrails.” Richie comes up beside him, leans back against the railing and stretches his arms over his head with a groan.

“Don’t fall in,” Eddie chatters. Now that he’s been summoned back to reality, he’s freezing. “Bev’ll be out- what? S-seven thousand?”

“Eight.” Richie pulls an imaginary crank. “Cha-ching!”

“For you? What a fuckin’ scam,” Eddie laughs.

“I know! I fully expected for this to end with Bev putting in a bid for whatever she was intending to donate and then we’d wind up gorging ourselves on McNuggets at 3am.”

 _Good_ , Eddie thinks. _Safe._ Whatever happened, Richie’s acting like this is a joke, like the time Eddie filled his shoes with sand because Richie stole Eddie's towel at the beach and then left it in the reach of high tide. It can all be shaken out and washed away, no harm no foul.

“So, uhm. Who was it?”

“That guy with a beard?”

“Coulda been worse,” Eddie lies. He can’t think of how it could possibly get worse than Bearded Tom Brady wineing, dining and sixty-nineing Richie.

Richie pulls a horrified face. “It could have been Pat Sajak in Drag.”

“Harrowing,” Eddie chuckles. “She was like, hold onto the grass so you don’t fall off the Earth wasted. I think she thought she was bidding on Knicks tickets.”

“I do cut an athletic figure.”

A cold wind blows up off the water as Richie jumps an imaginary hook shot. He lands in front of Eddie expecting some kind of reaction, but all Eddie can do is shake, his shoulders up around his ears.

“Eddie,” Richie sighs, looking at him. He takes off his jacket. “You’re _really_ out of it if you’re not gonna take potshots at that. _Not as well as you cut a fart, Richie._ ” He nudges Eddie around so he can put it over his shoulders like some chick on prom night then checks him over. His hands are warm, rubbing down Eddie’s arms.

 _Good. Safe_.

Eddie looks up at him. “Rich, I- uh.”

“Yeah?”

The hands on Eddie’s arms stop and hold tight. Eddie could lean in- make another bid for Richie and see what happens... But he’s so tired and the sky is so dark and he’s still so insignificant.

“I think I need to call it a night,” he admits.

Richie gives him an understanding smile. “I’ll get you an Uber, buddy.”

  
  
-

  
  
Saturday mornings aren’t great for Eddie. No matter how exhausted from the week he is, or how much he would like to, he still can’t sleep in. By 5am his back and bladder have had enough, and even if he gets up for a leak and a stretch, there’s no getting comfortable again. He’ll try to shower and get dressed to make breakfast, but sometimes he’s too stiff to get his pants over his feet, and it’s easier to hold off until after his physical therapy. Seeing as last night went later than usual, this is one of those Saturday mornings where Eddie is still in sweatpants, coming up on noon.

It's slow going, but he manages to empty the dishwasher and change the towels and is psyching himself up to do the bed sheets so that maybe he can trick himself into taking a nap in a fresh bed later when Richie calls.

“Heyyy party animal,” Richie greets him, with all the frat boy enthusiasm of someone who didn’t put Eddie in a car before 10pm, stone cold sober.

“Yeah, that’s me for sure,” Eddie answers. He flops the armful of fresh linens on the bed and collapses into the chair by his shoe rack.

“You wake up next to two hot babes, or three?”

“Just your mom, Tozier, same as usual,” Eddie groans as he stretches. He should remember to say hi on Facebook sometime soon, her birthday’s around this time of year, somewhere. Nice lady.

“Sick,” Richie spits. “Well, I just got up, so now I’m trolling for breakfast. You wanna hook up?” he asks.  
  
“In my language we call the food consumed at this hour ‘lunch’.”

Richie scoffs. “I forgot you were fluent in party pooper. Is the cuisine of your culture any good, or should we stick to the diner we usually hit up near you?”

Eddie laughs. “That could be good...”

It’s hard to say no to that greasy spoon, with its perfect bacon and Motown-heavy music selection. They always have a good time there, claiming they don’t have room for milkshakes and then relenting, and shushing each other when they get too into grooving along. Usually they’ll get a booth with Bev and Ben, but if it’s just the two of them they’ll probably get stuck at the counter, looking like a couple of idyllic 50’s teens, on those high stools that always end up messing with Eddie’s dumbass spine.

Ah, fuck, his back!

“Shit, uhm. I wish I could,” says Eddie. “But I have a PT appointment at one o’clock, and it’s near the shopping and I have like, zero food in the fridge-” and then he’ll need a shower and a nap and to pick up the apartment a little more for company and by then it’ll be pretty late. “What about dinner?” he offers instead.

“I have a thing,” Richie says, sounding disappointed.

Eddie frowns. “I mean, I could maybe skip my PT-”

“-No, you _need_ that, dude,” says Richie, playing the uncharacteristic voice of reason. “I’ll be free all Sunday and Monday. I don’t fly out until Tuesday afternoon.”

“Tomorrow, then. Noon. Maybe Monday night, too if you haven’t already given me a coronary by then, you fuckin’ meatball.”

“Okay! You got it, Spaghetti,” Richie says happily, but Eddie droops into a sulk.

Part of the point of Richie telling him he was going to be in town ahead of time (aside from lead time to rope in a buffer friend) was having this all worked out in advance. He knew exactly how much of Richie’s time he was going to get, and never had to sit around getting his hopes up that he would see Richie immediately and then have them cruelly dashed like this.

“What’re you doing tonight?” Eddie asks. “A show?” Maybe he can go and get his fix, after all.

“Actually, uh- I’m going out for that auction dinner.”

“Already?” Eddie croaks.

On the other end, Richie makes a non-committal noise. “Well, yeah. It’s hard to make schedules mesh, and the guy was pretty eager to figure it out. Don’t tell me that for that much money you wouldn’t want to nail down a plan, too, Eddie.”

Okay, so maybe Eddie huffs a little unbecomingly. “Yeah. Get it _nailed_ down, all right.”

Richie snickers.

 _Why_? Because he’s hoping Bearded Tom Brady will oblige? No, Eddie’s _sure_ Richie’s haste to set his date has _nothing to do_ with the fact his auction winner turned out to be a hottie who is the exact opposite of him in every way. Fair haired and blue eyed, cultured, big and strong as an ox- what does someone need all those fucking muscles for, working in fucking publishing? Does Richie _know_ that Tom Brady has never eaten a strawberry? It’s not even an allergy thing! What kind of person walks through life, content to never try fucking strawberries!?

The reminder to head out to PT pops up on Eddie’s phone and he swipes it away as viciously as possible without flinging the thing out of his own grasp.

“Err. Enjoy dinner, I guess. I gotta- I gotta get to my appointment,” Eddie grumbles.

“Don’t worry, Eds, I’ll save you a doggy bag if there’s anything really good.”

“Uh, no thanks. I don’t want your slobbery leftovers.”

Richie smacks his lips and lolls his tongue into his phone’s mic as loudly as possible. It shouldn’t make Eddie’s pants tighter imagining it, but it does.

“Jesus. Bye, Rich.”

“Hasta mañana!”

-

It’s good hospitality to pick up the tie pile at the door, and to vacuum and sweep and rearrange the couch. That’s normal to do when a friend is coming over tomorrow. Maybe put out some books they’d like on the coffee table! Making sure the bedroom is tidy isn’t out of the ordinary, either. Eddie likes to keep the door open during the day for ventilation’s sake and he wouldn’t want it to look like a sty when passed on the way to the bathroom. When he remakes the bed it’s not overly optimistic to make sure there’s two sets of pillows even if Eddie usually only keeps one- that’s how many is standard for a queen sized bed! And obviously, nothing is going to happen. Nothing _ever_ happens- but Eddie is an adult person who would like to someday have sex again, however improbable, so it’s not a fucking crime that while he was doing the shopping he bought condoms, though it made him sweat worse than his PT.

There’s one last thing, though. The jacket Richie sent him home in is still hanging over the chair, and there’s not really a place where it’s supposed to go- if Eddie hangs it up in the closet with his own things, he’s likely to forget to give it back. On the other hand, maybe he _should_ , so that he can lure Richie over again, soon. In a moment of weakness he takes a picture of it and texts it to Richie. He was going to leave things be until tomorrow and not think about things he doesn’t want to think about, but-

 **EK** I have a hostage.

Eddie waits longer than he should (i.e. any time at all) waiting on a snappy comeback before he realizes Richie must be about to head out for his date, and too busy to coddle him. Phone shoved back into his pocket, Eddie goes to find the Windex. At least the bathroom counter’s pitiful cry for attention can be answered. And who knows? Maybe while he’s cleaning up in there he’ll slip and hit his head and conk out until this is all over, removing the ability to dwell on what might have been.

While he’s wiping down the mirror, he gets a text back.

 **RT** i’ll do anything u say. pls don’t hurt him

 **EK** Get the cops involved and I start sending buttons in the mail.

 **RT** ur a monster!

Eddie giggles at the Gizmo gif Richie sends him.

 **EK** I hope you have another jacket with you. It’s pretty chilly.

 **RT** i don’t think u can catch TB from running around naked in the nite air outside of victorian novels anymore

 **EK** lol

Eddie glances up and catches his reflection smiling like an idiot. Better nip this in the bud. Get the last word in, put his phone down, and find something completely the opposite of thinking about Richie to binge on Netflix. Maybe he’ll finally look in on _The Crown_ like everyone else at the office.

 **EK** Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

 **RT** quick Q

 **RT** would u wear a tank top that says irish u were naked?

 **EK** You’re not even Irish.

 **RT** i'm mostly french canadian i think

 **RT** u got any french canadian in u eddie? 

Nice try, Richie. Eddie puts his phone back down on the counter while he replaces the trash bag and refills the soap dispenser.

 **RT** eh?

 **RT** ehhhhhh?

Oh for fuck’s sake, Richie’s only going to send out increasingly stretched out ‘ehh’s until he gets Eddie to stumble into this one, huh?  
  
 **EK** You know I don't.

 **RT** u want a little?

 **RT** ahaha

 **EK** Your date’s not gonna be able to resist charm like this.

Why’d he bring that up? Why isn’t it possible to delete texts after sending them? He is not bugging about whatever Richie’s doing tonight. He’s _not_.

“Just leave it alone,” Eddie mutters to himself.

He gathers up the trash and the Windex to head back to the kitchen, since the bathroom sink is too small to drown himself in, anyway. As he jams the bottle back into the cabinet, Richie treats him to one last tormenting mental image for the road.

 **RT** i’ll go with the mesh tank top instead

Eddie accidentally sends the box full of dishwasher tablets scattering.

After throwing together a quick and mostly tasteless salad for dinner, Eddie finds himself on the couch, undoing his earlier efforts to make the room look nice. He misses being able to lounge on his side comfortably, and keeps moving from his left to right, having to crawl down the length of the couch to switch head and feet on either end.

Whatever his earlier, erudite hopes, he finds himself re-watching the same few _MST3K_ episodes he always does when he’s feeling restless. Netflix hasn’t edited out the old P.O. Box address for fan mail, and he wonders what would happen if he sent in a letter now, as though it would find its way back to the original air-date, thirty years ago. _Dear Joel, You won’t always be stuck on the Satellite of Love. Hang in there, dude._ Maybe then by the next episode he won’t seem so glum.

Here in 2017, he gets another text from Richie.

 **RT** dinners at l’artusi and I think this dudes staying at the grand hyatt by the UN

And really- really _why?_

 **EK** Why are you telling me this?

He doesn’t need his nose rubbed in it.

 **RT** JIC this dude harvests my organs and stuffs me in a suitcase and the police need to establish a timeline, duh

 **RT** ruh roh raggy, hes asked the waiter for a new steak knife

 **EK** Start dropping comments about your raging cases of hepatitis. A through Z.

 **RT** good idea

 **RT** if i die make sure bill gets the novelization rights. he’ll know best how to describe my unparalleled physique

Maybe it’s a good sign Richie’s distracted enough to be texting Eddie. Maybe he’s bored. Eddie can hope a little- he’s already hoping! But he doesn’t let Richie entirely off the hook.

 **EK** I would say “Playdoh-like”.

 **RT** i was made to be rolled around and poked!

Eddie stares at Richie’s last text, thinking fast, breathing a little fast, too. Sure, it doesn’t take much to goad Richie into innuendo, or even blatant flirting, but all of his experience is in deflecting it. It’s a reflex at this point. But the wild idea seizes him- what if instead he finally started playing into it? Maybe he could keep setting Richie up, over and over, and then finally reel him in.

 **EK** Or maybe “comfortable”, if I were being generous.

Or being honest. When he thinks of being near Richie, or what it would be like to be held by him- it’s always comfortable. It’s somewhere he wants to be, if only he knew the way there.

 **RT** yes pls be generous with my body

 **EK** “Gruesome” would work, too.

 **RT** lol

 **EK** This is still BEFORE you get dissected by black market organ dealers.

 **RT** ffffffffuck you!

Richie must get caught up in his date, because after that he disappears for a while. Eddie’s not proud of it, but in the meanwhile he Yelp stalks the restaurant for pictures. It looks like it's mostly candle lit tables for two, with pretty blue lights and an intimate, dare he say _romantic_ air. He obsessively zooms in on every square inch, imagining Richie there, laughing politely at some bland joke. Zoning out to some inoffensive muzak and texting him beneath the table. Still. It’s nice. Really nice. The sort of place that wins you over. Eddie can’t bring himself to scroll down to the user reviews. They’re all going to be like, _My husband and I had our first date here and now I’m conceiving our fourth baby in our beautiful Oyster Bay home as I type, Five stars!_

Well fuck that! This isn’t the sort of joint you take Richie to if you want to get him to fall in love with you. You take him to a bowling alley that slings pizza and challenge him to gutterball-off, or go to a wing place and one up his celery stick walrus tusks. _Are you gonna eat that?_ Then you steal his napkin, dip it in ranch and pretend to swallow it. He’d go nuts for that shit. But then again, if Eddie is such an expert, then why hasn’t he swung it already? And why is he just sitting back and letting this happen?

Eddie seizes his phone with renewed determination. Maybe he can’t fend off every guy forever, but this one and his eight grand can stand a little competition. Fuckin’ Bearded Tom Brady. Probably thinks that just because he can shell out, that he has what Richie needs. He doesn’t! Richie doesn’t need someone to fawn over him, he needs someone to fuck with him!

 **EK** This place looks kinda schmancy, I’m shocked they let you in.

 **RT** i did the british guy voice, the maitre d ate it up

Eddie snorts, hoping that’s true. Richie’s accents have gotten better with age, sure, but whipping them out in front of bystanders still makes him look like a fucking lunatic to those who don’t know him well. He sends Richie a gif of the face melting from _Raiders_.

 **EK** That’s the people at the restaurant watching your table manners.

 **RT** i ordered a soup because fuck salad, u shoulda seen it

 **EK** You’ll have to do a reenactment for me.

 **EK** The diner has matzo ball that’s really fucking good.

 **RT** sure eddie, i’ll slurp some balls for u :9

 **EK** Stan must have a headache that he can’t explain.

 _ahahaha_ , Richie texts back. Does he laugh out loud? Harder than he has for his date? Does he wish he was sitting across from Eddie, and then it wouldn’t matter that this restaurant isn’t really his style? Maybe he knows the secret, deep down like Eddie does, that anywhere they’re together is where they both _belong_.

Richie goes radio silent again. Eddie sighs. Netflix rolls into the next episode. That means Richie’s probably been at dinner for two hours, give or take. Long enough to decide if he’s gonna give this guy a shot, but not quite long enough to get through drinks and dessert, too. Time may be running out.

 **EK** What’d you order for your main? Kid’s menu chicken fingers?

Eddie receives back a blurry picture of Richie’s plate, about a quarter full of pasta and fresh basil.

 **RT** i asked for u by name

 _Spaghetti_ , Eddie hears in Richie’s most adoring voice.

He wishes he could hear it right now. It’d probably be a bit much to call him, though, wouldn’t it? He drafts a couple versions of _I wish I was there. Next time I will be. Please, ask again sometime._ It feels like a clock is ticking down, and it makes his hands shake.

 **EK** I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it. Some jackass outbid me.

He waits longer than he’d like for Richie’s next message, heart sinking. No way Richie hasn’t wolfed the rest of what was on his plate by now. 

**RT** eh, this dinner ain’t all bad ;)

 **RT** i’ll give u the gory deets later

 **RT** gotta go

Oh no.

_No no no._

Eddie feels cold. Colder than he did at the pier. He sits on the couch for a good twenty minutes, too stunned by his own hopelessness to do anything but shiver and mop his face with the corner of one of the couch pillows. Did he really think some tepid text banter was going to win out over the hot, rich man already sitting in front of Richie? If he’d just let it be and never texted him tonight, then he wouldn’t have to know _for sure_ that they’re off to go fuck somewhere.

_Are you still watching “Mystery Science Theater 3000 Collection: Classic”?_

He’s not. He should go to bed already. Nothing will be helped by sitting up all night, waiting for time to reverse itself to a point where he could change things, or for someone to drop a letter from thirty years in the future in his mailbox. Eddie turns off the TV and drags himself to the bedroom. He turns down the covers and plugs his phone in, and after a brief moment of letting himself linger on the sight of Richie’s jacket folded over his chair, goes to brush his teeth. His miserable reflection is a far cry from the last time he looked in the mirror. He brushes left, right, top and bottom, staring at himself. He’s so tired and drawn. Sick and small, with nothing to smile about. He makes himself gag, he brushes so furiously.

Eddie makes one last lap around the apartment, turning off lights, then comes into the bedroom again, where his phone is the only thing left glowing. He just got another picture text. _Ugh_. He can only imagine what Richie might be showing off at this point. If he really wanted a mental image for his nightmares tonight, he could’ve googled pictures of the rooms at the Grand Hyatt already. He doesn’t win the internal battle not to look a little closer as he climbs into bed, though.

At a glance- it’s not some strange room, or some stranger’s dick or whatever Eddie’s imagining. It’s familiar. It’s the front door of his apartment building.

“What the...”

Eddie doesn’t think to take the phone off it’s cord or quickly grab an extra layer to take with him. He stumbles along in his socked feet, out of the bedroom, out the door of his apartment and down the hall. There’s a shadow there, behind the glass of the front door. A comfortable shadow, the shape of which he knows well enough to pull the door open for without hesitation.

“Eddie.” Richie steps inside, far enough that Eddie can let the door fall shut again. He looks much the same as he had last night, when he gave Eddie his jacket to keep him from freezing. Wide eyed and worried.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, looking up at him, just as concerned. Did that jerkoff do something that sent Richie running? “What are you doing here?”

Richie’s hands wrap around his arms again. “I’m extremely okay. I’m really fucking excellent, Eddie.”

Eddie goes sort of dumb, with Richie fixing him in place. “Uhm?” 

“I realized something. At dinner,” Richie says. Maybe Eddie has misidentified the look in his eyes, after all. Maybe it’s more like amazement than worry. “You wanted it to be you. Like, for real. You weren’t just bidding to show your fucking support, and you weren’t texting me all night to be an asshole. You wanted to be _on a date_ with me.”

All of the air in what’s left of Eddie’s lungs evaporates. “Hhh- I, uh.”

“ _You love me_ ,” Richie says, so certain. “You love me back.”

He loves Richie-

“ _Back_?” Eddie gasps. “Like- I love you back? Because. _You_ love _me_. Like- like-”

Before he can keep stammering enough ‘likes’ to make a new social media platform, Richie bends to kiss him. The hands on Eddie’s shoulders circle around tight behind him, pulling him in close as their lips blend together. It’s gentler than Eddie expected, for all of Richie’s usual crashing exuberance- but then he’s always been quick to be tender with Eddie. To care for him. _Because he!! loves Eddie!!_

Eddie pulls back to breathe. Everything in him strains, his imagination, his heart- “How? How long?”

Richie drops another quick, giggling kiss on his shocked mouth. “In inches!? Damn, Eddie you’re gonna have to wait and see." He laughs at himself until Eddie pokes him in the gut. “Ow!”

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie says pleadingly. “No bullshit. No jokes. Just tell me?"

Richie’s forehead bumps into his and large hands cradle Eddie’s face. “I have been really really stupidly in love with you a really really stupidly long time.”

Eddie hangs there in Richie’s arms, absolutely blown apart by that knowledge. He feels like he ought to look down and see new, bloody holes in his body, because that’s the last time he felt so much all at once. He could ask why Richie never said anything, but in fairness, Richie said _a lot_ of things. And Eddie had been married, and then he had been recently divorced and gravely injured, and then so fucking determined to keep Richie at arm’s length! What an idiot.

He tilts his chin and finds his way back to Richie’s mouth by the heat of his shallow breathing. Richie’s lips part at the touch of his, eager to accept the offered kiss. This time it’s not so quick or gentle. Eddie has things to make up for with this kiss, he’s wanted it for so long. Richie’s wanted it for _even longer_. The heat of it travels from their mouths, to the rest of Eddie’s face and skin. He doesn’t mind the lack of climate control in the hallway so much.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mutters into a kiss. “It’s so late.” Late at night. Years and years late. He pauses, realizing he needs to put some kind of definitive end to all this waiting. “I don’t know how to put it- this is so fucking stupid. Do you want to like? _Go out_?”

There’s a barking laugh as Richie pulls back and looks at him like he’s crazy. “What kind of dumbfuck question- _yeah_!” he says. “You want me to come back tomorrow at noon, or will your mom freak if I come in to hang out right now?”

Eddie grabs Richie’s hands and starts backing up down the hall, towards his door. Richie _loves_ him. He wants to be with _him_. He’s wanted to be with him _for a long time_. “Come in. Get your ass in here already.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Richie says gleefully. “Straight up, my go to fantasy scenario is to be dragged into your darkened boudoir.”

“ _Boudoir_?” questions Eddie. He pulls Richie through the door of his apartment and kicks it shut with his heel.

Richie knocks over the little table where Eddie’s ties like to unwind after a long day while they find a bare patch of wall to pin each other up against. “Shuttup, it’s a sexy word _,_ ” he says, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck.

“ _You’re_ a fucking sexy word,” Eddie parrots back. Apparently he has reverted to absolute basement levels of game. _Do you want to go out?_ _I know you are but what am I?_ That’s about how sophisticated he feels, pressed between Richie and wall, with hands roaming all over him. Absolutely no reserve of chill. That might explain what comes out of his mouth next. “I thought you were gonna go fuck Bearded Tom Brady, but you want _me_.” He can’t believe it.

“Fucking _who_?!” Richie struggles between the opposing desires of trying to grind his hips into Eddie’s, and wanting to drop to his knees in front of him. It’s sort of a horny, vertical cuddle. He muffles into Eddie’s shirt. “Ohh. Spencer.”

“Who the fuck is Spencer?!” Eddie shrieks.

“The guy from tonight!”

“The guy I thought you were gonna fuck! Don’t be moaning his name at me!”

It occurs fleetingly to Eddie then, that Richie hadn’t been privy to some of his internal people watching names. 

Richie bursts out laughing. “You think _that’s_ my type- big and beefy? Are you forgetting I’m the Highlander? There can be only one! You of all people should know I like ‘em... _compact_.” For emphasis, Richie sneaks his hands down the back of Eddie’s sweats. “Portable.”

“Fucking portable, I’ll _show_ you fucking portable.” Eddie gives him a shove. “You might end up stuffed in a suitcase tonight after all.”

Richie stumbles backward, but as he still has his hands hooked into Eddie’s waistband, he pulls him along for the ride to the opposing wall, too. He oophs as his back hits the wall and grins at Eddie, crowded against him. He looks far too pleased with Eddie’s possessive glare. It makes Eddie want to show him what’s fucking what. He’s with _Eddie_ , now. No one else!

“He wanted to talk me into writing an autobiographical book,” Richie explains patiently.

 _“_ Autobi- oh he’s in _publishing_ , right,” Eddie remembers, relaxing slightly. “I guess that’s one way to corner someone into a pitch meeting.”

“Sure,” Richie shrugs. “If he hadn’t dropped a cartoon sack of money on Bev I wouldn’t have considered it at all.”

“And _why_ were you texting me during a fucking spendy business meeting, dumbass!?” Eddie drives a punishing finger into Richie’s armpit. 

Richie yelps. “‘Cause I’m fucking obsessed with you, dude!” 

“Hmm!” Eddie supposes he can forgive that. He narrows his eyes, smug. “Still. Next time I run into your manager...”

“He’ll love it. Tell him I offered to slurp your balls while discussing a book deal.”

Eddie snorts. “Do you wanna write it?”

“Kinda?”

“You could!”

Richie could pull off just about anything, up to and including a casino heist, given enough time and a willing accomplice- and he’s got one.

Reassured, Eddie claims another blazing kiss from Richie. As he licks into his mouth, he resumes and reverses his attempt to hump each other through the wall, too. He pauses to growl in Richie’s ear. “But I will _definitely_ be requiring approval of any real-life based graphic content.” Before getting back to it, he gives himself just long enough, just enough room, to undo Richie’s jeans and shove them down to his thighs.

“Oh shit.” Richie slips down the wall a little bit, jelly kneed. “Anything you say, Eddie.” 

“There, that’s better,” Eddie says, with zippers out of the way. Just Eddie’s sweats and the soft cotton of underwear. They find the angle to slot their competing hard-ons against each other and keep moving, keep kissing. Eddie starts spilling out everything he’s ever wanted to say to Richie while he ruts against him. “You smell so fucking good, Richie- I want to get you all over me. I’ve been thinking about this. Touching you. Now that I can remember you, I- I can't remember not wanting to touch you,” he tells Richie.

It took him so long to figure out what that meant.

“Me too,” Richie puffs, understanding perfectly. He always knew Eddie so well. He knows when to make him laugh, how hard he needs to be kissed, and where he’s dying to be squeezed. He can tell when his late night stamina starts to flag, too. Richie kisses Eddie’s temple and pats his hip for a time-out. “How’s your back?”

“Twingey,” Eddie admits, just leaning into Richie for a moment’s rest. “Could I?” He lifts a hand from Richie’s side and traces his fingers along the band of his briefs. “Just on the outside? To start? I’ve never, you know, messed around with another dude’s junk before but-“

“Eds.” Richie looks at him very seriously. “You don’t have to right now, we can stop.”

Eddie shifts how he’s standing so he can comfortably cup his palm around Richie’s dick. “Are you sure you want to talk me out of this?”

Richie takes a sharp sip of air and bucks into the touch. “No??”

“Then pipe down and let me get you off already,” Eddie says, stretching up to kiss him quiet.

Richie races to shrug off his jacket and drop it on the overturned side table- another potential hostage for Eddie to take. But Richie surrenders to him so readily, only fighting to keep his eyes open as Eddie rubs him through his briefs. The look on his face, flustered and focused _only_ on him, the feel of his body writhing at his touch- it’s like the high Eddie could never achieve no matter how fast he drove, how much money he made, or what pills he swallowed. All of Richie’s sparking energy is on a switch, under his hand. _It’s all for him_. Richie’s chest heaves, and he can lay his head against it. He sweats and swears, and it’s because Eddie makes him feel good. He always knew it made him happy to make Richie happy, but now he’s learning there are other more primal connections, too.

“Rich if you keep telling me you’re gonna come, _I’m_ gonna come before you get a chance to touch me,” Eddie warns.

That makes Richie shudder. “That’s a double edged pork sword.”

“What?” Eddie teases. “You can dish it but you can’t take it? _Uhn, Richie. Make me come, Richie._ ” He giggles as Richie squirms.

Fun as it is to watch Richie’s embarrassingly expressive face, Eddie lowers his mouth to the open neck of his shirt for a moment, kissing his throat and breathing in the desperate scent of him, about to fall apart.

“Hngg, _fuck_ ,” Richie pants when Eddie bites his neck. “Hey, for no reason in particular can I borrow some underpants?”

“Yeah.” Eddie smirks and squeezes his dick. “I’m not letting you sleep in my bed in _crusty jizz shorts_.”

“-You’re letting me sleep in your bed?” Richie whimpers like he’s just realizing this, the sweet thing. Must be as surprised with his good fortune as Eddie is.

He kisses Richie’s flushed cheek. “Of course, Richie. Of course. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Richie nods, the whole of him starting to get wobbly. “‘Cause you fucking _love_ me.”

Realizing he can say it now makes Eddie feel like he’s forgotten that it’s his birthday up until the moment someone hands him a card wadded with cash. “‘Cause I love you,” he repeats.

“Eddie, Eddie, _fuck_.” Richie’s hands grip tight at the small of his back.

“C’mon Rich,” Eddie urges. With another few strokes, his cock pulses in Eddie’s hand, wet heat spreading and soaking his briefs. It’s so fucking hot to watch, it makes Eddie a little sorry he didn’t whip Richie out entirely. He’ll be ready next time- he’ll be looking forward to it.

“Fuck.” Richie droops against the wall and licks his lips. He takes a minute to pull his jeans back up. “Ahah. Uhh, sorry I’m kind of a quick lay. Been awhile.”

Eddie throws his arms around Richie’s neck and scrubs their stubbly cheeks together. “You call thirty years of build-up ‘quick’?”

Richie hums. “We can shoot for tantric in the next thirty.”

“Oh god,” Eddie sighs at the idea. Suddenly the arms wrapped around his middle hoist him off the ground. “Oh god!”

“Unhand me!” Richie bellows in a Voice best suited to a Victorian dowager. He gets a better grip on Eddie so he can carry him off. “How dare you! Villian! Cad!”

“That’s _my_ line,” Eddie objects, wriggling in Richie’s arms. Not enough to break his hold- just enough to show that he _could_. He hooks his ankles together behind Richie and tries to keep his arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.

“See, I told you,” Richie huffs. “ _Portable_.”

Richie has been to Eddie’s place enough times, he knows the way to Eddie’s bedroom, even if he’s never been in it before. He bends to lay Eddie on the bed, kissing him breathless before sliding back down to the floor, pulling Eddie’s sweatpants along with him.

“This is happening,” Eddie realizes. “Richie, holy shit.”

Richie already has his hands on his bare legs, smoothing the way ahead of his mouth. He kisses the long stretch of tendon that runs from Eddie’s knee to his groin, murmuring. “You’re gonna taste so good. Even your fucking knees taste good.”

Eddie digs his fingers into the duvet. “You’re gonna- you’re gonna- with your mouth- on my-“

“Suck your dick like a black hole? You bet!”

Hands run over him, toying with the elastic of his underwear and rucking up his shirt. Fingertips graze his stomach and Eddie flinches. Richie didn’t manage to turn on the lights when he brought Eddie in here, but the windows are still pretty bright.

“Wait, Richie-“

Richie looks up from mouthing along his left hip bone. “Only if you want, Eddie.”

He looks so content, so full of love, red lipped and rosy cheeked and waiting only for Eddie’s say-so. Anything he wants to give Eddie is what Eddie will take, but he- he’s not ready to disappoint Richie with what he’s offering in return.

“It’s cold,” Eddie says, not untruthfully. He tugs the hem back down. “Let me keep my shirt on, is all. Shitty circulation.”

Richie’s eyes light like a Christmas tree. “No problem. I’ll warm you up.”

For a little while Eddie feels guilty, but soon enough he feels Richie, more and louder. He noses at Eddie’s bulge and nips at the fabric with his teeth, all the while practically drooling, getting Eddie’s briefs as hot and wet.

“Want you drenched,” Richie mouths at the head of his dick. “You secretly like it a little messy, too, don’t you Eds.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

“You made me cream myself- what goes around _comes_ around.”

“Oh my god.” He can’t stand to wait any longer, if Richie’s gonna be like that about it. Eddie shoves his underpants past his ass, freeing his urgent erection. “Suck me off, _please_ , fuck,” he begs.

Richie drags them the rest of the way down and then dives in. It’s the first time he can remember in years, already being hard for someone when they first touch his naked dick. Maybe ever. He always had to work himself up and fight to maintain it, but now it’s payback time. He thinks even if he came now, he’d still have enough fuck left in him to take Richie for every kind of ride he can imagine.

“I got you,” says Richie. He flattens his tongue and slides it down and up and down the underside of Eddie’s length twice, then a third time- farther than he expects. While he slowly pumps Eddie’s spit slicked cock in one hand, he cups and licks his balls. He wouldn’t have thought to ask for it when blowjobs were on the menu, but _man_ is it a hell of an appetizer.

“Richie, you’re like, the only person I know gross enough to do this, _oh my god_ ,” he whines, toes curling.

“I did promise,” Richie chuckles. “Just wait until I get a chance to stick my tongue up your ass.”

“Eugh!” Eddie says, but a little, secret thrill goes up his spine. He jolts as Richie licks at him again with expert effect. “...if- if you want.”

“ _Mmm_.”

When Richie is satisfied that he’s thoroughly ‘polished the family jewels’ he pulls Eddie a little closer to where he kneels at the edge of the bed.

“You good?” he checks in. “Want a pillow so you can watch me better, you perv?”

Eddie reaches up over his head to grab one and whacks Richie with it.

“Asshole!”

“Of course I’m fucking watching.” Eddie stuffs the one pillow under his head and then grabs another for Richie. “Knees?”

He swipes it. “Danke schoen-“

“Nope! No German mad scientists in the bedroom!”

“-I was going more for Ferris Bueller.” Richie gets a fresh hold of Eddie. “Your dick is the microphone?”

Eddie chuckles and reaches down to scratch Richie’s head. “Dork.”

Richie leans into it. “Keep doing that.”

“Oh, okay.”

As Eddie combs, Richie hums contentedly and lowers his mouth for a few shallow dips. The heat that’s been pooling in Eddie’s stomach ripples out in a wave with every sinking inch.

“Fucking hell, Richie. You feel so good.” Eddie pets his hair and throws his own head back, already slipping in his intention to keep watch.

“I’m gonna swallow you, so don’t even trip,” Richie says. “Want you so much.”

Eddie keeps his fingers threaded in Richie’s hair, so unexpectedly soft. He fleetingly thinks how nice it would feel to lay against his chest, but banishes the thought.

He focuses on the bob of Richie’s head, and finds himself breathing at the rhythm he sets. His lungs burn like he’s pushing for a new running goal, but its so fucking good, chasing him, finally catching him after all these years, and being captured in return. He arches up into Richie’s hot mouth, taking him hungrily. This won’t take much longer if he keeps making eager little noises like that. Eddie is well aware he himself holds a championship title for being a stream of conscious motormouth, but Richie isn’t far behind, apparently even when he isn’t speaking. Right now, Eddie can clearly hear him- _more more more_ _I want more of you_.

“You’re so noisy, Rich,” he laughs. “Mmm mm mmm! _Come on Eddie, give me_ -“

 _More more more,_ he hears, again. Eddie’s stomach flips. There’s been lost space inside him all these years that was for Richie and he never knew and now it’s open and flooding out and he has more more more to give. He twitches his fingers in Richie’s hair.

“I’m right there,” he chokes. “Hhhfuck. I’m _yours_ , Richie-“

His head rushes when he comes, just this side of the line between pleasure and pain- but _good_ , definitely good. Richie sucks him down, drawing out more than Eddie knew he had in him. When he’s done he climbs back up onto the bed and posts himself on all fours over Eddie.

“Hey,“ he breathes, reaching up to Richie’s face. His glasses are hanging low on his nose, like a grandpa’s bifocals. It’s cute. Makes him giggle. “So, like, wow, what the fuck, Rich?”

“I know, right?” Richie follows Eddie’s hand, pulling him in by the chin and kisses his nose. Eddie responds with another giggle, so he lingers to plaster Eddie’s brow, too. “Why’d this take so long, again?”

“We are very stupid. Derry has a terrible education system.”

“Yeah. Suck it, us!”

Richie drops down, blanketing Eddie. He tucks his chin in the crook of Eddie’s neck and shoulder and sighs happily. He’s practically radiating while Eddie strokes his hair.

“Jesus, you’re like a furnace.”

“You’re even hotter.”

Eddie grins and pushes at Richie’s hips, where his jeans and sticky briefs are a rougher touch than might be desired. “You should go change so I can crank you up.”

“Yessir,” Richie says, rolling off of him.

“Top drawer.” Eddie wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. “And gargle!”

Richie sticks his tongue out at Eddie and digs into the bureau, searching for something to sleep in. “What, no leopard print banana hammocks?”

“Right next to the tie-dye.”

Richie pulls out some drab shorts and a heathered t-shirt with a disappointed look. “You’re such a fuckin’ square.”

“I feel I’ve been pretty consistent with that, so at this point, that’s really your own fucking fault for not noticing.”

Eddie catches the fresh bottoms Richie tosses him but rolls over to watch the show before going to find his sweatpants again. He watches Richie unbutton his shirt and toss it over the chair with his other jacket. In the low light of the bedroom, he looks like a dream.

While he heads to the bathroom, Eddie reassembles the pillows, then lays back with his hands folded under his head. He tries to remember the last time he slept over with Richie. Maybe some slumber party or an overnight high school trip? Thinking about it makes him hear a sort of buzzing, maybe? It was summer, he thinks. Richie will have more of it. His recall ability is eerie.

He holds an arm out to Richie when he comes back, inviting him to climb aboard. “You remember when you got strep and had to come home from drama camp early?” he asks.

Richie squints at him, having just taken off his glasses to slide into bed. He props his head up on one arm, thoughtfully. “I was supposed to be Mortimer Brewster in _Arsenic and Old Lace_ ,” he sniffs. “I’ll never get over it.”

“Uh oh,” Eddie yawns. “I smell a self-financed vanity project.”

Richie chuckles. “At this rate, by the time I get around to it I’ll be playing one of the old aunties.”

“I think that’s the last time we did this,” Eddie says. “Before, uh- the hospital, anyway.”

He knows Richie camped out with him while he was in a coma, but that hardly counts. He wants to remember the last time when they were whole.

Richie catches his drift. “You bungeecorded a box fan to your bike to bring it over my house.”

“See, I knew you’d have the weird details.”

Richie curls his hot body up against Eddie. “Good Ol’ Dr. K wouldn’t get too close while I was fevery, but a day or two later I only had laryngitis.”

“Ah, right.”

The fan buzzing as they zoned out watching _Little House on the Prairie_ reruns. Splitting a box of rocket pops. Richie pitifully squeaking his Mrs. Olsen impression until Eddie cried laughing at him. Since Richie was supposed to be at camp for another two weeks, his parents were still out of town and he was lonely. He didn’t even have to ask Eddie to stay the night- when it got late he just... didn’t leave. He wound up staying all weekend, playing house. Not that he knew that’s what he was doing, of course- sharing Richie’s bed and pooling their cash for take-out. Richie was just a really really good, _better than best_ friend it would be totally cool to live with when they were older. They could take turns driving on road trips and have a dog, too.

  
  
-

Sunday morning Eddie wakes up about the same time as he always does, but for the first time in over a year, not alone. Close by, Richie’s snuffling face is colonizing one of what was supposed to be Eddie’s pillows. He put extras on the bed for no reason, after all, he thinks with a smile. For as long as he can stand it, he turns on his side to watch Richie sleep, but his right is worse than his left for that sort of stunt. When he’s had enough, but also hasn’t had enough at all, he kisses Richie’s cheek and gets out of bed.

He stretches out in the living room and clears up the disarray from last night, wondering if he can get away with showering without waking Richie up. The plumbing sort of honks when the water is turned on in there, and just opening and closing drawers to find his clothes could be dicey, too. The longer he waits, the more risky it will get. Right now, if he got his clothes first and then went and showered really fast and got changed in the bathroom- there’s probably like, a 50/50 chance Richie will come in, either to pee or to try and join him. His shower is one of those sliding glass door deals, and they’ve never been exactly _shy_ about bathroom privacy and Richie will _see him_ and he won’t be able to control it.

This is not sustainable. He knows that. But he hasn’t figured out the best way to ease into it, yet. In the dark, certainly. Maybe an unbuttoned oxford? So it’s not all at once? He didn’t think it was going to come up all that soon with Joe Random, who’s opinion of him only sort of mattered- let alone Richie. Now that he knows how much Richie could want him, it would absolutely crush him if Richie wanted him any less. Fuck. Part of him feels like he’s tricked Richie into this. He should hold off showering for now. Something about the uncertainty of an awake/asleep Richie makes him more nervous than trying his luck with definitely awake Richie. Maybe if he gets really lucky, Richie will go back to his hotel before lunch to check out two days early and pick up his luggage. Or maybe he could offer to meet Richie there? He’ll think of something.

While he’s making enough eggs for the both of them, Richie appears. The borrowed clothes that Eddie would say fit himself perfectly leave very little to the imagination on Richie’s frame. He looks a little like the world’s sleepiest go go dancer as he shuffles in.

“Do these shorts give you a wedgie so bad you get a chub, or is that just me?”

“Just you,” Eddie chuckles. “I have a pair of yoga pants you should try though.”

“Do you not like them and you’re hoping I’ll split the seat?”

Eddie slaps Richie’s ass with an empty plate. “Easy access.”

“Mmm!”

They serve themselves some breakfast but never make it out of the kitchen, instead standing about with their plates. It’s more or less how Eddie usually does things ever since living alone, and he gets the sense the same goes for Richie. He offers Richie an overestimated piece of toast from off his plate and fantasizes about a proper breakfast nook. One with a window to the south and a plant or two on the sil. He bets Richie would be all about a bench where he could kick up his long legs while he hogs the butter dish.

Maybe it’s time to think about getting out of this apartment. Think about the long term.

After breakfast Richie makes a spectacle of himself, leaning over to put their plates in the dishwasher. He shuts it and shoots Eddie a smoldering look over his shoulder.

“Call me Dover. Ben Dover.”

“Cool. You learn that one from the front page of a geography textbook?”

“Maaaybe,” says Richie, not moving from his position folded over the kitchen counter. He wiggles his hips at Eddie. “Come here and I’ll show you something I learned from the health textbook, too.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but he comes up behind Richie and drapes himself around him like he wants, all the same. It’s not a chore. He still smells incredible, even with the stale sweat of sleep and Eddie can’t help but breathe him in. Breathing Richie makes him want to _taste_ Richie, and god dammit, his evil plan is working. 

“If you got any hot tips on gay sex from our health class you must have been issued a _very_ different volume than I was,” Eddie says, tracing a line up and down Richie’s spine with his nose. He kisses him between the shoulder blades, and presses closer.

Could he fuck Richie in the kitchen? No, right? There’s a knife rack and slippery tile and the condoms are in the bedroom, so by the time he went to get them and came back, it’s like- why not just bang in the bed, if you’re a novice buttfucker, anyway? The kitchen is definitely a Level 2 setting and he is in Tutorial mode. On the other hand-

“Gee, I was just angling for a snuggle,” says Richie, pushing back into him. “I didn’t know you were packing heat.”

“Sorry. Hair trigger,” Eddie says. “You’re kinda wearing the shit out of my shorts.” He tries to angle his dick out of Richie’s asscrack, but slapping it on his cheek isn’t exactly _less_ suggestive.

Richie lets go of the counter and turns around in Eddie’s arms. In a second, his mouth is on Eddie’s and their tongues are pushing together just as insistently as the rest of them. Richie whimpers something into a kiss but Eddie needs at least three more minutes of this before he can pull away and find out what it is. Maybe an hour. Fuck, how long is it until lunch? He ate a lot of toast- he could push it late! However long he can have it, Eddie keeps pushing.

Eventually their gropefest results in a mutual sliding of hands down pants. When Eddie squeezes his ass, Richie’s head nearly rolls off his shoulders.

“Oh fuck, okay- so! _Love_ where this is going,” he pants. “But I really wanna wash up first.”

Eddie gulps and withdraws. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck. “I’d really like it if your germaphobe ass wanted to fuck me a second time.”

Eddie nods, hoping much the same but for different reasons. “Okay, yeah, great. Fantastic. Uh, you can have the first shower. Be my guest.”

“Thanks, dude.” Richie knocks him a kiss on the cheek and starts to sling away. “Oh! I haven’t had a chance to Walk of Shame to the hotel-“

“Borrow my shit,” Eddie offers. “There’s spare razors in the kit. We can figure out your other stuff. After.”

By going for a jog instead of thinking about what’ll happen before 'after’, Eddie manages to get through Richie’s shower without spiraling. During his own, he convinces himself that this is the totally normal amount of nerves for the first time getting all up in someone you’ve been in love with for most of your life, probably! He feels fresh and optimistic, even. He has a tank top that covers everything he wants covered and yet bares enough neck and arm to give the illusion of undress. If he’s doing right by Richie, meaning: _doing Richie right_ , it shouldn’t matter what he’s wearing. He hopes.

Maybe he’s not the only one feeling a little nervous, though. When he comes back into the bedroom, he discovers that Richie has meticulously remade the bed in his absence. He lays across it on his stomach, kicking his heels anxiously and snooping in Eddie’s nightstand drawer.

“And if you pull the fourth book on the shelf it opens the secret tunnel to my dungeon,” Eddie says, sitting on the nearby edge.

Richie rolls over with something floppy in hand. “No notes on your love glove collection. Big concerns about your possession of a Beanie Baby, though!”

“It’s an aromatherapy eye pillow!” Eddie swipes at Richie to grab it and fails. “It just _happens_ to be shaped like a bunny.”

Richie shakes it over his head, making it’s innards rattle. “Does it have a name?”

“Its name is fuck you.” Eddie grabs again, flopping on top of Richie. “It’s fucking relaxing.”

“You don’t _seem_ very relaxed.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Because you’re an asshole.”

“How does it work? Do you just-“

“You microwave it-“

“-have little Mr. Bunny sit on your face?”

“-and it fucking smells nice and feels good.”

Richie drops the little pillow and catches Eddie in his arms instead. “That makes sense, I can imagine feeling very nice if you sat on my face, Mr. Bunny.”

“Great opportunity to suffocate you,” Eddie points out.

He tests his technique by covering Richie’s mouth with one hand and giggling as he strains to try and kiss Eddie despite it. They hold like that, tickling and teasing each other in distraction, though neither really wants to break away. Richie, of course, can never shut up and licks and muffles into Eddie’s hand.

_Wait, wait, Eds, I have something to tell you!_

Eddie looks over his shoulder. “Do you hear something?”

_It’s a secret, it’s a really really good secret._

“Is it that you’ve got a massive boner right now?” Eddie asks, twisting their hips together. “‘Cause that’s not really a secret, buddy.”

In a thoroughly flustering demonstration of his strength, Richie flips Eddie on his back to get the upper hand. Triumphant, he sits on top of him and weaves their fingers together. 

“Now I know _two_ secrets...”

Eddie grinds into him and watches the smirking composure on Richie’s face transform into eager want. He melts down into Eddie. He kisses him with abandon and gnaws all along his jaw and ear.

“I really wanna fucking ride you. Like this.”

“What are you waiting for?” Eddie untangles his hands from Richie’s and relocates them to his thighs. He slides them up and curls his fingers into his clothes. “Give my poor shorts a fucking break.”

If Eddie can just tee this up at the start, once they get into it he’s home free...

Richie sits back at Eddie’s command, but instead of kneeling to get his shorts off, he crosses his arms to peel off his borrowed t-shirt. It catches his glasses for a moment, but he recovers them before tossing it away. He swarms down to Eddie again, kissing his neck and pulling at the straps of his tank like he’s forgotten which direction clothes go in the last three seconds.

“Richie-”

“I already started opening myself for you in the shower,” he tells Eddie, which makes his brain short circuit.

“Oh-“

Richie scrambles at Eddie’s clothes, shoving one hand down into his waistband and the other up into his shirt, then both.

“Oh god- don’t-” Eddie sputters, grabbing to stop it, but it’s too late. Richie’s hands are under his shirt, feeling his body and all the places where it’s been ruined. He sucks in as Richie grazes the ragged flesh and the sickly hollow where bone is missing, speaking on an inhale. “ _Don’t Richie, please_.”

“Woah,” Richie pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

“ _Nothing_! Nothing, just don’t-”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, Eddie, you’re literally crying!”

Eddie shoves at his shirt, shoves at Richie, and shoves at the bed so he can sit up. He feels at his face, streaked with tears.

“Eddie. Eds, take a deep breath-” Richie shifts to let him move but doesn’t let go entirely, hands fast around his elbows.

“I’m fine, don’t- we don’t have to stop.” Eddie clambers to grab Richie’s shoulders, too. He leans back in, still blurry eyed, trying to find Richie’s face with his own. “I want you, _please_. Please still want me. Don’t stop, just please-”

Richie gathers Eddie and his shaking arms into his chest. He presses his mouth to his hair and shushes his sobs. “Eddie, of course I want you. Always.” He rubs Eddie’s back in little circles, but after a few, his hand goes still as he realizes. “This is- this is about your body?”

“It’s-” Eddie starts and stops. He wipes his nose on Richie’s shoulder which is _gross_ and he would object to if it was him. “I _feel_ fine. I mean. I can do this. I can. Yeah, there’s good pain days and bad days but like, I’m fucking forty so regardless it’s not like I have a lot of day long fuckathons ahead of me-”

“Get me a case of Poland Springs, we’ll see about _that_...”

“ _But now I’m fucking hideous_ , I- I can’t even look at myself, sometimes! I leave the mirror on the medicine cabinet open when I take a shower so I don’t have to see-”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Richie says, stroking Eddie’s hair and neck, down to his back, over and over. He kisses him to still his mouth. “Eddie, shhh.”

He uses his weight to lean Eddie back and lay him down again. Eddie’s relieved to be silenced for a moment and gives in, sniveling a little, but kissing back. Richie covers him with his own sturdy body, fixing him in place and keeping him safe from even himself.

“Close your eyes, Eddie. Keep ‘em closed.”

“Richie?” Eddie looks up at him, pinched with worry.

“I mean it.” Richie bends to kiss each of his eyebrows. “Or else I’ll have to get the bunny- you want me to get the fucking bunny?”

Eddie shuts his eyes, his whole body clenched tight. “I- I don’t know where it ended up.”

Richie chuckles and kisses his lips again. “Then let me be your bunny, Eddie, shh.”

There’s a light plastic clatter- Richie folding his glasses and placing them on the nightstand, Eddie thinks.

“No peeking! Just shhh. Relax.”

Richie hovers over him and ghosts his freshly shaved cheek against Eddie’s. Against his neck, down and around to the other side. His hair tickles at Eddie, and though it’s disguised a bit by the shampoo from Eddie’s own shower, it still smells like _him_ underneath. Eddie hesitates to touch, but Richie doesn’t stop him. While Eddie has his hands locked in Richie’s hair, he continues drawing curlicues down his neck and collar with his mouth and the tip of his nose. Eddie’s breathing slows, and Richie pauses at the ball of his shoulder, planting an especially wet kiss.

“I love you, Eddie. And I always like how you look, because it’s _you_.”

“Richie-”

He shushes Eddie again and travels the heat of his mouth over his tank, down to the bottom. He swipes the tip of his tongue into the inch of exposed skin between Eddie’s shirt and briefs. Very very slowly, he pushes the gap wider and kisses his belly. “I liked you when you were a tiny little goblin boy and when you were a teen with acne and bad skater hair, and I’ll like you when you’re an old as shit silver fox,” he chuckles. “-But I _especially_ liked you when you were stabbed because you saved my fucking life.”

Eddie can feel the cool of air on his chest all the way up to his sternum, where Richie has laid his head. He’s only touched his lips and cheek to Eddie’s scars, but even without his glasses he must see them. The old site of a shunt and the red, twisted, starburst pucker in the middle that matches the one in his back, connected by the more surgical, but still fucking frightening seam of the lobectomy. It travels from under his right pectoral to under his arm and around his back to his shoulder blade, like someone tried to chop him up for a drumstick but stopped half way through

“It’s- it’s fucking _ugly_ , dude,” says Eddie. He sees it every day, he _knows_.

“Eddie, look at me,” Richie huffs. Eddie snaps his eyes open and Richie is over him again, taking his face in his hands again and stroking his thumbs there gently. “You can’t talk shit about someone I’m in love with. I’ll fuck you up.”

Eddie swallows hard, fighting the instinct to cry again. “I wish I _deserved_ you, Richie.”

“There wouldn’t even be a me without you, dude,” says Richie. He holds Eddie tight and lets him work out a few more tears.

No Richie without Eddie, no Eddie without Richie... Sure, Eddie may have actually saved Richie, but he knows he means more than that. The Richie he loves didn’t spring forth from nothing, fully formed. They shaped each other, growing up, like trees planted too close together. They’re entwined, and even if you tore them apart, the shape of where the other used to bend would still be there. He kisses Richie and holds him back and _loves the shape of him so fucking much_ and if he still fits with Richie, even like this... maybe.

“Come on,” says Richie. “Up. Let me see.” He grabs his glasses again.

Cautiously, Eddie lifts himself long enough for Richie to pull his tank top off. 

“Okay, but you don’t have to like, be _into_ it. That’s just fucking nuts.”

“Oh c’mon,” Richie scoffs, lowering himself to Eddie again. “You think I’ll make some sweet mouth love on your balls, the Oops Pile of God’s ceramics studio, but _not_ a measly little scar?” He drags his whole tongue across Eddie’s chest, then licks his lips at the taste. “A little paint and some Bondo? This’ll buff right out.”

Eddie laughs, and not just because Richie’s fingers are dancing along the scar under his arm. He starts to loosen up, shoulders first and then seeping down. He always feels better when he’s laughing with Richie, and Richie comes through now, same as ever. He sticks his head under Eddie’s arm and painstakingly signs his name with his tongue, using his scar as the line.

“There,” Richie says, punctuating it with a peck. “Autographed. That’ll get you like, forty-five bucks on eBay.”

Eddie wipes his dampened skin, biting back a smile. “Disgusting.”

“If you wanna talk disgusting, let’s talk about this farmer’s tan.”

“I do not have a farmer’s tan!”

“You certainly used to.” Richie pitter-patters his fingertips at his skin. “You have a tell tale freckle drop-off, Eddie. I shouldn’t be having to tell _you_ to use more sunscreen.”

“It was still hard to reach my arms around over the summer!”

“Maybe you need an assistant to lube you up.”

Richie makes like he’s slathering his hands in lotion and then rubs them down Eddie’s neck and shoulders. He works down each of Eddie’s arms, too, bringing his hands to his mouth and kissing his knuckles.

“Mmm. Coconut,” he smiles, before moving on to take some compelling liberties as he massages Eddie’s chest.

“Ha! Uhm. The right one’s kinda nerve damaged, now but-”

“Lucky lefty.” Richie tweaks his nipple and Eddie’s admittedly stiff back arches into it happily.

“That. That’s nice,” Eddie moans. The heat of Richie’s laving tongue gets him stirring again.

He lays back and watches Richie being as loving with his body as he was last night, and allows himself to simply inhabit it. However bad it looks, it feels _good_ right now. _Very good_. His heart is racing. His body and Richie’s body could be feeling good _together_.

“Rich.” Eddie runs his hands up Richie’s thighs, on either side of him. “Tell me about your shower.”

Richie holds still a moment. “Well for starters, I got to make out with your shower head, since it’s so fucking low.”

“Hey!” Eddie chuckles.

“That’s some bomb ass body wash, though.” Richie sits back on Eddie and gets a feel for him, hardening once again. A glint lights his eyes. “Got me all slippery. Then you know what I did, Eddie?”

Eddie nods and starts pulling on Richie’s shorts again. “How many?”

“One... two... three.” As he counts off each finger, Richie grinds his ass into Eddie’s lap and the lines of his beautiful bare body undulate.

“Fuck, Richie.” He looks so good up there. “You still ready?”

To answer that, Richie jumps to tear down his shorts and dive for the nightstand. “Uhm. You wanna do the honors, or should I?” he asks.

“I got it.”

Eddie rips off his underwear, too and shimmies over to the exact middle of the bed to put on the condom and lube himself up. He is not risking anyone falling out of bed and breaking an arm. God willing, he wants to be doing this again later, not sitting in an ER, wasting the limited time Richie has in town.

Richie climbs back over him and shakily levels himself with Eddie’s face to kiss him again before they get going. He’s trembling with nerves, but smiling so hard that Eddie has to make do with kissing his teeth.

“You good?” Eddie asks.

“Just fulfilling a lifelong dream, no big.”

“No fucking pressure, huh?”

Richie bounces his eyebrows and lets out a deep breath. “Alright, Eds,” he says, kneeling back until he’s where he wants to be. “Man the torpedo, it’s time to destroy this friendship.”

“Never,” Eddie smiles.

He gets a hold of his dick with one hand and lays the other on Richie’s hip to help guide him. When Richie finally sinks down on him it feels so ludicrously perfect, he laughs. Isn’t the first pancake of a batch always supposed to be kinda awful and unshapely? This is perfect and round and sweet and golden. He’d take a picture and frame this feeling if he could.

“Oh, ah,” Richie puffs as he bears down. “Keep laughing. Feels super good when you move.”

And hell yeah, Eddie is delighted to be Richie’s living vibrator if it feels like _this_. “But you have to tell me a joke,” he teases. “ _Fuck_ , that’s tight.” He has to hold his breath for a minute while Richie takes him deeper. 

“Uh. Knock knock.”

“Pfft. Check out this supposed professional,” Eddie snorts. “ _Who’s there?_ ”

“Me,” Richie says, sickeningly sweet. “-and I'll always be there for you.”

“Oh god,” Eddie snickers. “You’re awful.”

“Gimme a break, I’m multitasking.”

“This is- _unf-_ like the opposite effect of when someone loses artistic objectivity while fucking a shitty musician!”

“But you _are_ laughing.”

“That was a fluke,” Eddie insists. “Say something else funny.”

Richie screws up his face, somewhere between a grin and a snarl. “ _Is it in yet?_ ”

Eddie laughs and tears his eyes away from Richie’s reddening face. With rapt attention he watches the eclipsing space between their bodies as Richie bottoms out on him. “God, _yeah_.”

When he’s all the way inside of Richie, when they’re as close as they can be to being one person sharing a heartbeat, Eddie tears up again. Richie is so wonderful, so deserving of love that its fucking criminal that he ever held back. Romantic negligence. How could he ever be so afraid of Richie not wanting him that he could risk Richie not knowing how much _he_ was wanted?

He wraps his hands around Richie’s, balanced on his chest. “I really love you.”

Richie’s mouth squiggles. “That’s really fucking beautiful and all, Eddie, but save it for when I’m about to blow in like, two minutes and meanwhile _bounce me on your dick_.”

Eddie’s spine jolts. “Yeah. Yeah, fucking fuck yes.” He draws up his knees so he can move better, pushing off the mattress.

“That’s it, that’s it- ah!”

They move together for much longer than two minutes, thankfully. Richie sets a sort of schizophrenic pace, sometimes energetic, with his dripping cock slapping against Eddie’s sweaty stomach, sometimes slow and dragging. When he tires himself out, Eddie takes over from below, making him yelp. Making him say lovely things and filthy things, and funny things, too.

“Do that again and- and I’ll name the _-unng_ gym after you when Derry- when _ohh fuck_.”

“When what, buddy?” Eddie churns his hips around and then snaps, again. The way it makes Richie incoherent is too good to pass up, even if it’s a sure ticket to some ibuprofen and a heating pad later on.

“When- when- _ha, ah,_ they hit up alums to remodel the school.” Richie slumps down against Eddie, breathless. “The Eddie’s Short Shorts Gymnasium.”

Eddie pets Richie’s hair. “I want a gold plaque.”

“Flip with me and you got it, Eds.”

When Eddie nods, Richie pulls himself away and then topples over onto his back. He shudders as Eddie crawls in between his legs, feeling around to bury himself in Richie again. “You can lay that lovey dovey stuff on me now,” he says.

They fold themselves together and Eddie kisses Richie as he begins to move. “Wanna bet how many times we can say it before we bust?”

Richie grins. “ _Price Is Right_ rules.”

There isn’t really a loser, in the end.

  
  
-  
  
  


“I’m paying,” Eddie insists, expecting a fight, but Richie slides the check across the table to him.

“Of course you’re paying, you’ve got a lot to make up for.”

Eddie frowns. “Make up for what!?”

“Let’s see... Bearded Tom Brady paid eight thousand, figuring the average date costs fifty... that’s a hundred sixteen. If we’re saying weekly, that's over two years of dating,” Richie calculates. “You basically stole me away from my fiancé, Eddie.”

Eddie glances at the shiny chrome of the napkin dispenser to see if he’s blushing as epically as the heat of his face would infer. Uh, yep.

The dregs of Richie’s milkshake slurp obnoxiously. “Though he probably would have dumped me when he heard what I spent on the pair of _Hamilton_ tickets you wanted,” he shrugs.

“Wait, what?”

Richie twinkles at him. “They better let us on stage, is all I’m saying. I hope you’ve stepped up your rap game since ‘Shoop’, Eddie.”

“Oh my god, Richie.”

“At the time, I was hoping to make it a date night, so one way or another, I guess-“

“I- I- thanks, man!”

Richie grins and bites his straw. “Oh now, I know _that_ look. But you might want to hold that thought for someplace other than the diner, unless you wanna get banned forever.”

Eddie composes himself and they head over to Richie’s hotel, as planned. When they get there, he holds the door open and watches his _packed, stacked, 'specially in the back (brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that_ ) man walk through. They were undecided on if they planned to stick around for long, but Richie is _his_ \- his generous, tender, absolute fucking goon of a man and Eddie is feeling extremely grateful. If they want to go out, Richie needs his luggage for fresh clothes that fit him, but if they _don’t_... access to a king sized bed, a larger shower, and room service ain’t too shabby a way to celebrate.

After some sightseeing in town, Eddie sits back against Richie and hogs the Pringles from the minibar while he texts his next most senior coworker.

 **EK** Hey, Karen. Wanted to let you know I won’t be in tomorrow. I’m taking a suck day.

 **EK** *dick

 **EK** *SICK

Richie hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder. “Hell yeah, take a dick day!”

“Ahaha. While we’re tossing around ideas for tomorrow- how do you feel about fleeing the fucking country?”

A kiss lands on the back of Eddie’s neck. “Can’t. I’ve been meaning to tell you, Eds- I’m on the run from Interpol for pirating a Hoobastank album in 2002. The second my passport turns up, I’m toast.”

Eddie makes a sorrowful noise. “If it was something morally justifiable like war profiteering, I could understand _that_ , but how could I get mixed up with such an evil, hardened criminal?”

“The _hardest_ ,” Richie growls into his ear. “You should take me into custody.”

“Will you come quietly?”

“You know I won’t.”

Now, all the other times that they’ve played a game of Cops and Robbers, Eddie is willing to admit he’s been a bit of a stickler. Maybe Richie would try to convince him to give up the chase and join in a life of crime, but he never gave in before. Just as soon as he proves he’s not wearing a wire, the tables turn and it was a corruption sting, all along! Richie does allow his prisoner his one phone call when it rings, though.

“Oh shit. It’s Bev.”

When he had to go home the other night Richie had made Eddie’s excuses for him, but she must have questions.

“Do _not_ touch my phone until you’ve washed your hands,” says Eddie, scrambling to hit the answer button for himself.

Richie just chuckles and sits up against the headboard where Eddie can make him into his lounge chair again. “Put it on speaker!”

No matter what Eddie does, Richie will make his presence known, so he may as well.

“Hi Bev!”

“And Ben,” she adds.

“Hey Eddie!” he adds for himself.

“Whazzzup!” 

Bev makes a smug noise on the other end. “Richie, hey! What are you two knuckleheads up to?”

“Eh, just fucking each other’s brains out.”

Every part of Eddie that’s currently touching Richie tingles and he twists around to glare at him, but he figures he got off light. “Uh, so, you know. Like, just as an update. That’s happening. We’re happening. Me and Richie. As a couple.”

“A couple of dudes, non-stop boning!” Richie throws in.

“Jesus Christ. They’re not interested in-“

Ben d’awws. “Guys, that’s great! You really deserve each other.”

Richie gives him a squeeze while Bev giggles.

“Is Bev in danger of breaking her arm, patting herself on the back? Ben, you might wanna check.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she defends.

“Yeah Eddie, it’s Ben who’s the loose lips,” says Richie, making a pucker noise.

Eddie sighs. “Why did I tell you about that?”

“Probably something to do with the vulnerability achieved by your first assgasm.”

“ _Richie_!”

“Ah, _well_ ,” says Bev, sounding like a person whose eyes have never been wider. “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you two babies anymore, ‘cause uhm...“

Eddie raises a hand for Richie to high-five. He fuckin’ knew it.

“We have some news, too,” Ben beams through the phone.

“WE’RE PREGNANT!”

There’s an eruption of four people’s worth of hooting and congratulations, but when that settles down, Eddie puts on his most serene, Bev-like tone of voice. “That’s great, Bev. I’m really glad you’re at the point where you're telling me.”

“Oh screw you, you didn’t know!”

Eddie snickers.

“He’s like, the symptom police,” Richie says dreamily. “Hey wait! Hey hey! Can we be fucking godfathers or what!?”

“Uh,” Ben considers that for a second. “I don’t think we’re planning on a christening?”

“I’m just warning you guys, you might want to give him VIP baby access or else Richie _will_ take matters into his own hands.”

“Yeah, that's true.”

After they let Bev and Ben go (or maybe the other way around) Richie gives Eddie's back a good rub with a side of 'practice kisses'. He does put his shirt back on when they order room service, but only because Richie can be a little possessive, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm @stitchyarts on tumblr and twitter, where I have a lot of reddie art. Check it out!


End file.
